


in the arms of a cowboy

by hisfreckleswerestars



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Cowboys & Cowgirls, Face-Fucking, Hair-pulling, Handcuffs, M/M, Outlaw Dean Winchester, Semi-Public Sex, Sheriff Castiel, Team Dean's Red Ass, Top Castiel, lowkey D/s vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 11:51:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14424825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hisfreckleswerestars/pseuds/hisfreckleswerestars
Summary: The last person Castiel expects to see when he walks into the Sheriff's office in the morning is Dean Winchester. Yet there he is, the outlaw who’s been Castiel’s duty to catch since he’d gotten his badge, with an ever present smirk on his face and brown Stetson on his head, handcuffs around his wrists, forcing his arms behind his back.





	in the arms of a cowboy

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to [Nadia](https://hartlessfiction.tumblr.com) for beta-ing! This fic wouldn't be as cowboy-like and readable if it wasn't for her.
> 
> I know I haven't posted here in /squints at last fic/ 11 months, as that's because I've been posting over on a different ao3, and this is just where I'm going to post filth. So here, have some cowboy porn.

The last person Castiel expects to see when he walks into the Sheriff's office in the morning is Dean Winchester. Yet there he is, the outlaw who’s been Castiel’s duty to catch since he’d gotten his badge, with an ever present smirk on his face and brown Stetson on his head, handcuffs around his wrists, forcing his arms behind his back. Chief Deputy Garth is proudly standing behind Dean, a wide smile on his face as if he’s expecting a pat on the back.

Castiel stares at the two of them for a long moment, blinking slowly. “Garth, am I still dreaming?” he finally asks.

“I mean, if you were dreaming, then I would be a part of it, so I couldn’t exactly tell you. But I don’t think so,” Garth says.

“Is that Dean Winchester you have handcuffed in front of you?” Castiel asks pointedly, because it’s too early in the morning for him to be dealing with Garth’s rambling. 

“You saying you dream of me when you’re alone at night?” Dean asks, a shit-eating grin on his face.

This _fucker_. “It’s more of a nightmare,” Castiel grumbles, turning back to Garth, purposely ignoring Dean. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Dean raise his eyebrows and seductively pursue his lips, and fights a blush. “How did you find him?”

“Caught him at the Roadhouse Saloon down the street,” Garth answers. “I slapped a pair of cuffs on him, but I haven’t been able to get him to give up where his brother is yet.”

“Why don’t I get it out of him?” Castiel says to Garth. “Go down and ask the locals at the Roadhouse if any of them have seen Sam.”

Garth tips his hat. “Got it, Castiel.”

As soon as the door closes behind Garth with a loud _slam_ , Dean slides into Castiel’s lap. His thighs bracket Cas’ legs, a heavy weight that, through the thin fabric of his chaps, leaves nothing to the imagination. “Hey, Sheriff. Long time no see.” Dean’s smirk is back in full force.

Castiel can’t stop himself from reaching out and gripping Dean’s hips. His fingers flex in the familiar position, squeezing over the supply curve with a tightness he knows is going to leave bruises. He tries to convince himself he does it because Dean will fall out of his lap, but he knows he’s only deluding himself. “What are you doing here, Dean?” He grits out. “There’s no way Garth caught you that easily. I thought we’d restricted our relationship to times we ran into each other on raids, and certainly not in my _Sheriff's station_.”

Dean seems to ignore the majority of Cas’ speech in favor of pressing little kisses in the juncture of Cas’ neck. Castiel feels his focus begin to slip, his hands convulsing on Dean’s hips as he tries to bring his rapidly scattering thoughts together. “Doesn’t this get you hot, though?” Dean asks. “Knowing we could get caught any minute?

Cas’ immediate answer is a loud _no_ , because if they got caught Dean would be thrown in jail, and Castiel would be stripped of his badge. Nonetheless, arousal flashes through him like lightning, sharp and sudden, adrenaline pumping through his veins and making him all too aware of the sweat coating Dean’s skin and the dirt under his fingernails. He pants out harshly, “Okay, I’ll give you that. But why _now_ , instead of a few months ago, when we were first starting out?”

Dean’s eyes flick away. “I, umm. I missed ya, Sheriff.”

A smile blossoms on Cas’ face. “Oh?”

Dean is full-on blushing now, a pretty pink that highlights the freckles dusting his cheeks. It reminds Cas of the twinkling stars strung across the velvet night sky the first night they spent together. How ravenously their bodies wound together, mindlessly thrusting, chasing their own release, too far gone to think of the consequences.

“Don’t make me say it again, jerk,” Dean mumbles.

“I missed you too,” Cas says, smiling. “I’m your huckleberry.” He goes on, “And I suppose… since we’re already here, might as well take advantage of the moment, as we get so few.”

“Attaboy,” Dean says, grinning.

Dean slowly licks his lips, gaze dropping to Cas’ mouth, and before Castiel knows it, they’re kissing, wet and sloppy and perfect. Cas’ eyes slip closed, and he meets Dean, chasing his mouth with untampered enthusiasm. It’s been too long since they’ve been able to touch like this, and Castiel feel like he’s gone for so long without it, without Dean, that he has become a man standing before the altar of all his unearthly desires. He kisses sinfully, as if Dean is his salvation.

Cas reaches his hands up to tangle in Dean’s short auburn hair, underneath the man’s hat, and _pulls_ , until Dean is gasping into his mouth, needy little sounds falling from his gorgeous lips. Dean is still handcuffed, and Cas feels powerful, in that moment, knowing he decides when and where to move Dean, his own personal rag doll. Cas makes quick work of Dean’s clothing, unbuttoning his shirt and pushing back until the fabric catches on Dean’s handcuffs. He runs his fingers over Dean’s nipples until they’re hard nubs.

“Sheriff, need you, need you to—” Dean babbles. He’s mindlessly thrusting against Cas, trying to get any friction he can.

“What do you need, sweetheart?” Castiel asks, his fingers itching ever so lightly against Dean’s scalp.

He delights in the way Dean’s eyes roll back in pleasure. “I need you,” he sighs out. “I need your dick.”

“Hmm. Not specific enough, I’m afraid,” Cas says. “My cock is right here, though,” he continues, putting a hand between his and Dean’s bodies, over the swell of his chaps, to lessen the pressure. “So have at it.”

Dean only stares at him in confusion. At least he’s pretty, Castiel thinks as he drops his hands and wraps them around Dean’s thighs. He lifts, taking full advantage of the muscle growing up on a ranch had given him, and drops Dean to the floor. Dean lands heavily on his knees, grunting in discomfort. He’s a gorgeous sight, with his shirt off, showing the miles of tan skin beneath. He’s staring up at Cas with his green eyes, pupils blown wide with desire, mouth hovering right near where Cas is hard and aching.

“Wrap your lips around me,” Cas instructs, softness slipping into his voice. It's always been like this with them. Dean might be an outlaw, but he never takes from Castiel what he isn't freely offering. Not when it comes to his body, anyway. They have rules about this sort of thing—Dean likes their rules, and especially likes it when Castiel enforces them.

Now that he’s been given permission, Dean responds with enthusiasm, mouthing over the fabric tented around Cas’ erection, pulling a low gasps from his lungs. Dean struggles to pull down Cas’ pants with his teeth for a minute, grunting at the effort. When he seems to realize opening Cas’ pants while wearing handcuffs isn’t possible, he stares up at Cas and pouts. Cas smirks, then undoes the laces at the front of his pants and pulled himself out for Dean. Once Cas’ cock springs free, Dean immediately wraps his lips around him, bobbing his mouth up and down, saliva dripping out of the corner of his mouth. It’s messy, and uncoordinated, and so fucking hot.

Cas puts a hand to the base of Dean’s neck, and pulls him down roughly on Cas’ cock until his nose is nestled in the thick trail of hair that leads from Cas’ belly button. Cas holds him there until he starts to choke. Then he pulls Dean off, allowing him a few precious breaths, before shoving him back down, again and again, fucking into his wet, warm mouth, absolutely _wrecking_ him.

When Cas feels that familiar tingling sensation sweep through him, rising up like a tidal wave, starting in his toes and spreading outward, he tightens his hold on Dean’s neck, then yanks him off. Dean gasps as he’s able to suck air in freely, a string of drool connecting his mouth and Cas’ cock for a moment, before Dean swipes his tongue over his lips. Cas moans.

“What’s the matter?” Dean asks, voice rough.

“I still want to fuck you.”

Dean’s eyes flash in arousal, before he cheekily says, “Oh? Can’t keep it up, old man?”

Castiel resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m only a few years older than you.”

Dean scoffs, seeming unable to find a comeback for that. “Well, are you gonna fuck me or not?”

“So needy,” Cas mutters under his breath, but complies, hooking his hands under Dean’s elbows and pulling him up, then slamming him face first onto his desk. The left side of Dean’s face is squished into the rough wooden surface of Cas’s desk.

“This position is kind of uncomfortable,” Dean whines, pulling fruitlessly at his handcuffs.

“You and I both know you are capable of getting out of these handcuffs, if you wanted to. I think you just enjoy being pushed around.” Cas presses a hand to Dean’s hip, the other digging into his hair—finally dislodging his hat—to push him harder onto the table.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re not wrong,” Dean pants out. He shifts on his feet to spread his legs, an invitation Cas can’t refuse.

Without another word, Cas pulls Dean’s pants, then chaps, down to pool around his thighs, uncovering Dean’s gorgeous, pale, freckled ass. Cas runs a hand over the smooth skin, soft and pliant beneath his fingers, then, without warning, brings down his hand on Dean’s left cheek, _hard_. Dean’s yelp echoes in the quiet space of the Sheriff’s station, even louder than Cas’ smack.

“Is this good?” Cas asks.

“Yeah, keep going,” Dean says, tone on the edge of pleading.

Cas bites his lip to keep from smiling. Dean’s fondness for spanking had been… pleasant to discover, to say the least. Cas smacks Dean’s right cheek, the broken sound of Dean’s ragged breath and the sting in his own hand going right to his groin. He alternatives between both cheeks consecutively, red blooming on Dean’s skin, before spreading Dean’s flushed cheeks and spanking right over his quivering hole.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean cries out. “Sheriff, please, please fuck me. Need you in me.”

Castiel reaches a hand down into the drawer of his desk and easily finds the bottle of leather oil stashed there. Cas knows that the other Sheriffs would probably kick his ass for what he’s about to use it for, but it’s difficult to focus on that when Dean’s in front of him, so he’s really not all that concerned.

“Were you already planning to fuck me in your office?” Dean says, smirking, as Cas spreads oil onto his calloused fingers. “You kinky bastard.”

“With your insatiable need, I have to be prepared,” Cas deadpans.

“Pfft. Like you don’t wanna fuck me as much as I want to—”

Whatever Dean was planning to say next is cut off on a groan as Cas slips a finger in Dean’s hole, easily sliding into the first knuckle. He makes quick work of opening Dean up, and soon has three fingers pistoning in and out. He knows he’s brushed up against Dean’s prostate when Dean lets out a breathy moan, and Castiel focuses all his attention on the little bundle of nerves under his fingers. He strokes and plunges, massages, pressing brutally until Dean is a mess of moans and ‘ _please_ ’s. Castiel doesn’t know if Dean is always this loud in bed, or if it’s just the way Cas pleases him. Either way, it doesn’t stop Cas from feeling smug about how Dean comes apart for him.

“What’s that?” Castiel asks, just to be an ass. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

Dean doesn’t seem capable of stringing sentences together at this point, just moaning in response. Smiling, Cas pulls his fingers out slowly, Dean’s hole fluttering around him. Dean looks good like this, all flushed and ready for Cas’ cock. He slicks himself up, then pushes into Dean with a low grunt, his eyes squeezing shut, holding onto where Dean’s handcuffed. Cas breaths out real slow, giving Dean’s body a minute to adjust before beginning to roll his hips, slowly at first, before the tight wet pull of Dean’s body has him speeding up. His hips snap quicker, deeper, fucking in earnest, his balls slapping against Dean’s ass. The squelching sound of their fucking fills the otherwise quiet Sheriff’s station, an obscene turn on to Cas’s ears.

He aims for Dean’s prostate, hitting it on every other thrust, and Dean quickly becomes a blubbering mess, curses and moans falling from his sinful lips. Drool leaks from his lips, staining the surface of the desk his face is plastered to. His breath hitches as he tries to babble encouragement and begs airily for Cas’s cock. Castiel isn’t in a much better state, hands falling to Dean’s hips, guiding Dean back onto Cas’ cock harder and harder, fingers squeezing, because can’t seem to let go.

Dean gives as good as he’s getting, pushing his ass back to meet Cas’ every thrust. The harder Cas rams into him the more Dean wants, the more he begs, the sharper, faster, fiercer, he lifts his hips to meet each pounding thrust of Cas’ cock. Dean is twitching, rolling his body in a way that makes it clear he’s unabashedly rubbing his dick into the hard surface of the desk below him. He’s bucking like the wild creature he is, single mindedly chasing his pleasure, doing anything to achieve his release.

Dean clenches around him, a rhythmic fluttering of his walls, pulsing heat that surrounds Cas like a vice. His orgasm rushes to the surface, his cock aching, and when Dean groans, low and long, filling Cas’ ears, he falls over the edge. His orgasm shudders through him, taking him by surprise, like a typhoon, stirring his blood and making him cry out. “Dean, Dean,” he pants, like the name is his salvation, a prayer leaving his lips on each exhale. Each spurt of his cock fills Dean’s taut hole, and Dean rocks back, his boots scrabbling against the rough wooden floor, fucking Cas through his orgasm. With a soft gasp, Cas gives in, then pulls out when he becomes too sensitive.

Watching his come dribble out of Dean’s twitching hole is positively _filthy_. Cas licks his lips, then, curious, reaches out and nudges two fingers into Dean’s puffy hole, pushing his come back inside. He wiggles his fingers in the loosened passage as he drops his other hand down to grip Dean’s cock. The moment his hand closes around Dean’s length it twitches hotly, surging into Castiel’s grip, and Dean whines, head rolling against the desk, wrists pulling at the sturdy handcuffs he still wears. It takes one sharp tug for Dean to spill hot and wet over Cas’ fingers, hips stuttering to a halt, shaky moans slipping from his lips. He pants breathy exhales that almost resemble the words “I love you, Cas”, but Cas tells himself that can’t be right—that he misheard Dean’s whispered, orgasmic confession—because the contrary is too dangerous.

Dean finally looks up, his lips red, bitten and shiny from saliva. He cranes his head and grins at Cas. His hair is a mess from where Cas was running his hands through it, and his hat is nowhere to be seen in the aftermath of Cas fucking him with all he had.

“Damn, didn’t know you had it in ya, Sheriff,” he says. Then he raises his still handcuffed hands. “Now do you think you could give me a little help with these?”

“Sorry about that,” Cas says, blushing a little at how he had lost control. Every encounter has with Dean results in him becoming less and less of the straight-laced Sheriff he used to be.

He pulls out his drawer, replacing the bottle of oil and exchanging it for his keys. He unlocks Dean’s handcuffs with practiced hands, gently rubbing the feeling back into his wrists. He feels guilty when Dean winces. “You should have told me if they were too tight.”

“Nah, I liked them like that. It was hot as fuck.”

Dean hasn’t stopped grinning at him. Cas trying to memorize every detail of his face, not knowing when they’ll see each other again. He looks so cute—innocent, even, bearing no semblance to the outlaw Castiel keeps forgetting he is—and if he doesn’t stop smiling, Cas might do something stupid like ask him to stay, which they both know he can’t. Cas clears his throat loudly. “W–when are you leaving?”

Sure enough, Dean’s smile slips from his lips, squaring his shoulders as a look of dejection slips over his features before he can school them into his normal, cocky face of indifference. “Umm. After I get my clothes on, I suppose.” There’s a very dangerous pause where they both seem frozen, gazing into one another's eyes, and Dean says, “Unless you want me—”

“No, no, you should go,” Castiel cuts him off, dropping his eyes. His hands fumble with lacing the front of his breeches back up. “You have rich people’s houses to steal from, remember?” he shifts uncomfortably, because the last thing he wants is to send Dean away. Cas wants to hold him, kiss him, hear his cocky laughter and see him smirk. “A–and you have to catch up with your brother. You left him waiting a bit too long at this point, don’t you think? I’ll be sure to make up some plausible reason to tell Garth about you escaping.”

“Can I punch you in the face?” Dean asks, humor in his eyes. “It’ll be more convincing.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, fighting off a smile. Fuck. Letting Dean go is harder than he thought, but yeah, maybe a black eye or a bloody nose from Dean is just the souvenir he needs to make it okay. “Make sure it won’t bruise,” Cas says, adjusting his stance to accept the blow and knowing that there’s no way—with how Dean’s looking at him, the rejection and anger boiling just under the surface—that the outlaw will comply to his request. 

He knows the look in Dean’s eyes, knows he put it there. And they need this, the violence—Dean needs this to reestablish his equilibrium, and Cas needs it to keep the rapidly blurring lines of their relationship from disappearing all together. Because if they do, if they are no longer the Sheriff and his Outlaw, if they are just Cas and Dean...

“No promises, Sheriff,” Dean says with a sinuous roll of his shoulder, as he cocks back and nails Cas right in the eye.

**Author's Note:**

> I have to be a principled writer here, and remind you to use condoms. The only reason I didn't work it in here is because they were in the Wild West, and that would be a little bit of a... plot hole. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed!
> 
> ([rebloggable link](https://besotteddean.tumblr.com/post/173300921334/in-the-arms-of-a-cowboy-rating-e-words-3142))


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